


And Let It Deep In

by deadendtracks (amonitrate)



Series: the possibility was a blade [5]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Episode Related, F/M, Hallucinations, Missing Scene, Season/Series 05, Spoilers, implied suicidal ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 11:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20723693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amonitrate/pseuds/deadendtracks
Summary: “I don’t need to explain myself to you.” Tommy grated from across the room somewhere. “You always were a self-righteous prick.”Spoilers for series 5, hence the vague summary.





	And Let It Deep In

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Peaky Blinders Emergency Response Challenge, episode 5.
> 
> Definite spoilers for the new series, through episode 5.

Lizzie hadn’t meant to fall asleep, not with that man in her house, even with the locked bedroom door and Tommy beside her, passed out, still wearing his holster. Done in by whiskey or opium, she wasn’t sure, but he’d crawled into the bed after her, tuxedo shirt half unbuttoned, and gone still. She’d listened to his even breathing for awhile, listened to the small sounds of the house settling, and hoped Mosley would leave the goddamn maids alone. Before she’d come upstairs she’d told them to keep their quarters locked tonight, but maids could be too curious for their own good about the goings on in a house like this, she’d quickly learnt. 

At least he’d be certain to ignore Frances. 

They’d sent the children to stay with Johnny Dogs, and she hadn’t understood it; it was just a ballet, after all, Ruby would have loved seeing the dancers. But Tommy had announced his plans for the evening in that way he had where there was no arguing with him, a general handing down orders to his troops, and now, now she saw the fear underneath the rigid insistence. He’d been afraid to keep them in the same house with Oswald Mosley. She wasn’t sure whether the fact he hadn’t sent her away with them meant he trusted her to hold her own or just didn’t care. Wasn’t sure the distinction mattered much.

He’d given her forewarning of Mosley himself, at least, and that was something, she supposed, even belated as it had been. She could have refused to go through with the party after that; she didn’t think he would have stopped her. But she hadn’t. She hadn’t, and so she’d seen Tommy’s face when Mosley stepped into his absence and took the chance to spring his little speech on their guests. 

She’d meant to keep herself up until daylight, meant to check on Linda, meant to make certain all doors stayed locked that should remain locked. But in the wake of everything that had happened she’d succumbed after all and was startled back to wakefulness by Tommy’s voice.

“Fuck off.”

Lizzie froze at the venom. Tommy was no longer a limp weight beside her in the bed. If it was Mosley, at the door with his propositions, Tommy would surely send him off, but she was in her slip, and--

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.” Tommy grated from across the room somewhere. “You always were a self-righteous prick.”

The lights were out. They’d been on last she remembered. There was a sliver of moonlight escaping the curtains but her eyes hadn’t adjusted enough to make out more than shadows on shadows. 

“I’ve stopped passing information on your old comrades, isn’t that enough?” It sounded almost petulant.

There wasn’t a telephone in the room. Lizzie sat up, silent, trying to find him by the direction of his voice. He wasn’t over by the door, as she’d first thought. His voice was coming from… too low, she realized, from near the floor. She was just reaching for the lamp when he spoke again. 

“You and your fucking revolution, you’re no better than him. You’re worse, because you've convinced yourself you’re on the side of the angels, and you want to drag all the rest of us with you into hell again. Working people against the fucking British Empire, against tanks and machine guns and gas, how do you think that will fall out, eh? What do you think they’ll do to Ada? They already crush your strikes like they’re nothing; if there’s a real fight it’ll make the Somme look like--” He broke off with a sharp laugh. “At least at the Somme both sides were armed.”

Lizzie switched on the lamp. 

Tommy was crouched between the bed and the windows near the dressing table still littered with liquor bottles, still in his tuxedo shirt, still in his holster. His head shot up, eyes wide, whites bloodshot, the blue somehow brighter for it.

“Jesus Christ, Tommy,” she said. “You scared the fucking shit out of me. Who were you--” 

There was no one in the room with them. There hadn’t been anyone in the room with them. 

Tommy didn’t move, but his eyes flickered to the side as if someone was next to him on the floor. His face was white in the dim gold lamplight, faintly sheened with sweat.

“Tom--”

He didn’t blink. Just stared up at her, gone silent, toying with something silver in one hand, rolling it between his fingers. He’d had it down in his library the night he’d laid his fucking claim of ownership on her, the night he'd set Arthur after Linda and started in motion the landslide that had ended with Linda screaming and spitting on their dining room table tonight. She’d thought it was a loose bullet then; now she saw the caliber was too small to fit any gun she knew.

Lizzie slipped from the blankets and rounded the bed until she could crouch on the floor near him. Stayed out of range of his reach, kept her eye on the gun in his holster, but he didn’t make a move for it. Just watched her, like she’d intruded on something. Like she’d interrupted a private conversation. 

This close she could see that his pupils had nearly vanished, as if she was shining a spotlight into his face, hadn’t at all adjusted to the lamp’s gentle glow. 

Fuck.

“Tom,” she said, calmer than she felt. “How much opium did you take?”

His breathing was shallow and slow and he finally blinked, sluggish, then shook his head.

“Lizzie.” He didn’t sound certain he knew what she was doing there with him in their bedroom.

“I think you were dreaming,” she said, carefully, and he shook his head again.

“Wasn’t asleep.”

“Come on,” she coaxed. After a long moment he let her peel the holster away and finish stripping off his shirts, soaked through in the back, let her pull him up from the floor and lead him to the bed. He pocketed the bit of silver he’d toyed with, his hand chilled in hers, and she made him lie down next to her again, brushing the damp hair from his eyes as he sank into the pillows.

This time she stayed awake, Tommy’s gun on her bedside table, until the faint moonlight became faint dawnlight and she could hear the house start to shift around them. Tommy didn’t move again but his eyes never quite slipped shut, and when Frances knocked on the door to announce their special guest’s departure, he got up and dressed for the day without a word. 

She didn’t ask who he’d been talking to. Wasn’t sure she needed to. 

Wasn’t sure it mattered.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Horses" by Patti Smith.


End file.
